On paper, James looks terrible. He can’t see a whole lot, he has shaking all over his body that makes simple tasks impossible, he has hearing loss, and his speech is impaired. But in person, he’s got it going on.

My son James is 11 and has multiple disabilities—he is motor impaired (wears leg braces up to his knees), fine motor impaired (has trouble holding a pencil and can’t use a mouse), speech-impaired (if he phoned you now, you probably would only understand a few words), legally blind, and hearing impaired. Blessedly, his brain works fine.

These stories are easy, and they’re fun. Dancing, twirling—Spirit dusts every scene with unicorn sparkles, and Rowan listens with glossy eyes. Spirit makes sense to him because he loves magical thinking—loves the gleaming power of possibility. He still looks at the world with wonder. For him, if something is wrong, if he’s sad or angry or lonely, it seems perfectly reasonable that someone might throw a cupcake at him.

When I look back to when I first became a mother, I see myself enmeshed in a tangle of emotions. Wonder. Fear. A love so intense it left me feeling hollowed out and raw. In those first weeks and months—my baby’s fontanel still soft, his flailing limbs seemingly no more substantial than bird wings—I felt inadequate next to how much he needed me. Inept is always the word that comes to mind when I remember our earliest days together.

I just want this to be over. I want it to be six months from now. I want my son playing with stickers that weren’t just ripped off his chest, and I want his heart to be fine. I want him playing in the sun and stomping puddles in the rain.

Our columnists extend their hands, lives and experiences to you in friendship though columns that cover new ground in new ways. Do you have a story that is uniquely yours–one that you can’t wait to tell, and that we can’t wait to read? Read more about submitting your idea here.